In October, My Husband Left a Manila Envelope on Our Kitchen Table and Walked Out Into the Rain

I had one thousand two hundred and eleven dollars in my purse.

I had been saving it for a water heater, then for Marcus Vance, then for nothing in particular.

“Run it,” I said.

He asked me if I was sure, and then he asked me again while the printer was going.

I signed the slip.

The paper came out warm.

One thousand two hundred dollars even, and a deck pass with my cabin number stamped in the corner.

“Be at the gangway at eight twenty,” he said.